


the measure of my changing love

by you_idjits



Series: love, in fire and blood [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Eggs, M/M, Post-Season/Series 08, coda to my DCBB, so read that one first?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_idjits/pseuds/you_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas get into a fight over eggs. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the measure of my changing love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a coda to [Pedaling a Bicycle toward Your Arms](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2539790). It would seem that Dean is still pedaling.  
> Thank you to [Onja](http://appleblossomdean.tumblr.com/) for reading this over. Thank you to anyone still reading this 'verse. It's mostly self-indulgent, but I appreciate the support.
> 
> Title comes from another Pablo Neruda poem (can you tell I have a type), called [I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You](http://allpoetry.com/Sonnet-LXVI:-I-Do-Not-Love-You-Except-Because-I-Love-You). That poem also lends a line to the title of this series.
> 
> Crossposted on [tumblr](http://shootingstarcas.tumblr.com/post/108497729586/the-measure-of-my-changing-love-a-coda-to-my).

It starts in the grocery store. They’re looking at eggs, and Dean’s showing Cas how he has to pick up each one to make sure they’re not cracked. The dairy aisle is cold, cold, cold. It makes the hairs on Dean’s forearms stand up. Cas is taking too long with the eggs and Dean just wants to get to the beer, so he snaps, “Hurry the fuck up, will you, Cas? They’re just eggs.”

Which is, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

Cas is still newly human, and while he’s not as fragile as an eggshell he doesn’t take well to being snapped at. Dean has learned in the past few months, the hard way, that Cas is still figuring out how to deal with unexpected emotions.

Appropriately.

Dropping a carton of eggs on the floor of the dairy aisle, for example, is an _inappropriate_ reaction.

Saying, “Fuck you, Dean,” and stalking off – also inappropriate.

Dean stares after him for a while, and then he hears, “Cleanup on aisle seven,” over the intercom, and-

“Shit,” he says. “Shit.” He stumbles through the eggshells, through the yolks floating like miniature suns on the floor, to chase after Cas.

He gets stopped halfway down the aisle by a store attendant, but he fumbles a handful of bills into her hands and shoulders by. There’s egg sticky on his shoes now, and the tension in his chest feels stuck between annoyed and apologetic. Cas is three aisles over, hands shoved deep in pockets, frowning at a row of honey jars.

“Come on,” Dean says, and tugs him by the elbow of his hoodie. They leave without buying anything from their cart.

So then they’re fighting, or something. Dean doesn’t know what to call it. Usually their fights involve deceit and lies, or the King of Hell, or worldwide death and destruction. This is about eggs.

Is it about eggs? Dean isn’t really sure. He doesn’t really know why they’re fighting, but Cas starts taking his meals in his room again. Dean goes on long drives, touching the Oklahoma border before turning tail and heading home again.

It’s just that Dean snapped at Cas and Cas snapped at Dean. Them being together – if Dean can even call it that – is new, and uncertain. Dean holds it in his hands and doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know where to put it. After the grocery store, other things start getting under his skin. Cas never replaces the toilet paper, Cas steals his best flannels, Cas listens to Simon & Garfunkel. When they talk now, Dean gets this tension in his chest which he can’t quite push through. So he starts backing off. Whatever progress they were making slows to a crawl.

He starts sleeping in his own room again, and it doesn’t feel the same. It’s not because of all the empty space, like people always talk about in break-up songs or whatever. Dean’s slept in his own bed for years. Besides, Cas’s body beside him sometimes feels like empty space too. It’s more like- like Dean was just getting used to being with Cas, casual intimacy and casual comfort and casual bed-sharing. After the grocery store, it stops being casual. It starts feeling- forced.

“You should talk about it,” Sam says one day, when Dean’s complaining over breakfast.

Dean laughs. “Maybe we’ve gotten better at talking, Sam, but not that good. Sometimes you need to talk and sometimes you just don’t.”

“But you’re not going to break up, are you?”

Dean sets down his fork. “Maybe we took it too fast. This, us. Cas is still getting his shit together, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. I think he needs space.”

 Sam nods, thoughtful, but he’s got a grin on his face.

“Dude. What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing.”

“Sammy.”

“I just, I said ‘break up’ like you two are an actual item. You know, boyfriend and… boyfriend. I guess. And you didn’t correct me.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Oh. Huh.”

“Dean, you and Cas didn’t take it too fast. You’ve been crawling towards this for, like, five years. Don’t overthink it.”

Five years. Yeah, maybe. “I just think,” Dean says, “I think maybe this was a bad decision. Like, yeah, I- Cas and I- yeah. But I’m not good at this. I know I was the one who suggested we go domestic. But this, I mean, this relationship, if that’s what you want to call it? I’ve never been good at long-term shit, Sammy, you know that.”

Sam makes a face, exasperated. He stands up and gathers his plate and silverware. “No, Dean. You only mess up relationships because you tell yourself you will.”

Dean gets up to clear his plate too, following Sam into the kitchen.

“And- and furthermore,” Sam says, “Cas needs you to _help_ him figure out his shit.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I’m serious, Dean. You’re crap at it, sure. You’re not very nice to him.”

“Wow, Sam, tell me how you really feel.”

“But you help him. You do. You keep things stable. If he didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t be here.”

Before Dean can protest that, Sam walks out. So Dean stands alone in the kitchen and stares at the dirty dishes, and thinks for a while.

Cas comes in, with a plate dusted with breadcrumbs. “Hello, Dean,” he says.

“Cas,” Dean says, and nods. His throat feels dry.

“Do you mind if I take the keys to the Impala?”

“Uh,” says Dean, “sure? Why?”

“We’re out of eggs again.”

Oh. Fucking _eggs_ again. “Y- yeah,” Dean says, digs his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to Cas. “Here. Don’t drop the carton this time.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it, because it’s such a _dumbass_ thing to say, but Cas just smiles.

“I’ll be careful,” he assures Dean.

“Right,” Dean says, and Cas isn’t moving anywhere, and they’re just staring at each other, and then Cas’s smile widens.

“I’m not angry at you,” Cas says.

“I’m not angry at you,” Dean says.

Cas steps forward, and he puts his hand just behind Dean’s left ear, the warm metal of the car keys pressing against his skin. He tilts his head up and kisses Dean on the cheek. “I’ll be back,” he says, and sweeps his thumb over the place his lips just were.

Huh, Dean thinks. Does this mean they aren’t fighting anymore? Were they ever? Maybe Sam’s right, maybe he’s overthinking things.

“See you,” Dean says. Cas leaves, and again Dean stands in the kitchen alone. That’s the first time Cas has kissed him, Dean realizes. Some relationship they have.

Eggs, Dean thinks. They can joke about the eggs. Dean snapped at Cas and then Cas snapped at Dean and it’s not a big deal. They’ve gotten past worse, after all.


End file.
